Cohabitation Takes Some Effort
by Chiharu Octavia
Summary: Papa!Roy. One-shot. Roy has taken in Ed and Al now that they're restored and have nowhere to go, but Ed's finding it difficult to share the one thing he never had to share before: his brother.


If there was one thing Ed hated, it was watching Colonel Roy Mustang with Alphonse.

His brother didn't understand his dislike of the colonel. Mustang had taken them in, after all. When Al had come back, it was Mustang who'd insisted on both of them living with him after Ed turned down the Rockbells. The man had even gone so far as to offer adoption – threaten with, more like, Ed had thought angrily – and the older Elric had promptly told Mustang to go fuck himself the second the word "guardian" had left Mustang's mouth. Ed had fully intended that Al would stay with him in the military dorms, at least for a while.

But it was soon made clear that it was only because of the previous Fuhrer that Ed had even been allowed to become a State Alchemist before the age of majority, and that although he was a minor, the new parliament saw no advantage to releasing a genius from his term of service. Like any other bureaucracy, they did a quick about-face when it came to allowing Alphonse, now only ten, to stay with Ed in the barracks, too. That had caught Ed and his pocketbook by surprise. He'd used a fair chunk of his research grant already. After all, he'd been obsessed with getting Al's body back, not with finding an apartment - even if there were adults that would sell or rent to children, which he suspected there weren't.

And Al …had hovered near Mustang's side, wide eyes turned on his brother, demanding in that soft way that Ed let them live with a man who'd known their father, who had done such great things for the country, and who was the only one who'd "helped Ed get his brother back."

A slight exaggeration, maybe, but after that there was nothing for Ed to say. Mustang had him over the proverbial barrel, and they both knew it.

So now here they were, in that bastard's house, and Al spent every snowy evening with a big smile on his face that just turned Ed's stomach. Mustang had no _right _to be taking up time with Al that rightly belonged to Ed, and no right to make his brother look so .—

"Brother!" Al glanced up at him from the rich Xingian carpet, face bright with laughter, playing cards scattered in front of the fireplace in some silly game. "C'mere! You have to see what Roy's done!"

Roy. There were on a first-name basis now? What had happened to Al's deferential "Colonel"?

Smoothing the scowl he knew was there into haughty indifference, Ed snapped his nose back to his book, staring at the same page he'd read been staring at for the last half hour. "Busy," he said succinctly.

The fire crackled, and Mustang's voice smoothly filled the sudden void. "Gather them up, Al. Fullmetal can play whenever he's finished reading."

_Why would I want to play with you?_ Ed wanted to snap, but he kept his mouth shut. The use of his official title as compared to Al's given name didn't escape his notice, either.

His brother made a small noise of acquiescence, "Well, okay," and the cards resumed their shuffling. The two at the hearth tried to keep the volume low, but all too soon Al was giggling again.

Ten more minutes was all he could stand. Abruptly Ed slammed his book shut and stood up, surprising Al out of the game.

"Brother? Where're you going?"

"Bathroom," Ed lied, and marched out of the room.

As soon as he left the fire, he regretted it. The short hallway was dark, and compared to the warm room behind him, practically an icebox. He hugged his book to himself as he bypassed the bathroom, hurrying toward the bedroom he shared with Al. He knew from this morning's drive to work that the snow outside was piled as high as his knees, but this was ridiculous. He was living with the damn Flame Alchemist! Couldn't that idiot do anything to keep his own house warm? One would think he'd at least keep the furnace in better order.

He changed quickly, the cold air biting at his bare ribs, pulling the soft, thick pajamas the colonel had provided over his head, and crawled between the heavy blankets with a sense of expectant satisfaction. No matter what those two were doing, Al always came back to Ed at night. His younger brother knew that Ed couldn't sleep alone anymore, even though Ed had never said as much. When Mustang turned in, Ed and Al would curl around each other in their new double bed, Al's fingers twined in Ed's hair, Ed's arm over Al's side, snug and intimate, just the two of them.

And there was _no Mustang_.

Content to wait the man out, Ed picked up his book and lit the small, old-fashioned oil lamp on the nightstand. He settled himself against the pillows, glad for the comforter. It was cold, but Al would join him in a little bit, and then they'd both be warm...

A fierce pain woke him, the cutting sting of the automail forcing him upright with a gasp. His book tumbled off his chest, hitting the floor with a thump, and he blinked blearily into the dark, cradling his shoulder. Where…? What…?

The frozen air hit him a half second later, a shock of cold worse than a bucket of water. His muscles tightened in a violent tremor, and he realized with dismay that he was sore; had he been cold for so long? He must've rolled away from Al… Trying to keep his chattering teeth quiet, he reached his left hand out, right arm tucked close to his body, the metal frigid.

"Al? Scoot back over. I'm – Al?"

His hand met nothing but sheets. His brother's spot was empty.

Frowning, he fumbled for his watch, squinting at the silver hands in the weak moonlight. Half past… two?

Anger flashed, hot and immediate, providing temporary energy. Ed was out of bed in a flash, ignoring the way his right foot was almost instantly frozen on the wooden floor.

That jerk was behind this. Only he would keep Al away from Ed! The complete ass!

He yanked the door open and all but ran to the living area, gait uneven, spoiling for a fight – but the room was empty. The fire was a mere ember behind the grate, all the previous heat gone, and the moonlight showed the playing cards were neatly stacked on the low end table. There was no sign of either his brother or the colonel.

Ed's eyes narrowed, and he spun on his heel, his automail clanking way too loudly as he limped to the only other bedroom in the house. Just as he suspected, there was a light on there, cracked door allowing a thin line to spill into the hallway, and Ed pushed the door the rest of the way open, swinging around the doorjamb with a shout on his tongue – and stopped dead.

There was a fire at the foot of the bed. Hovering.

Well, not hovering, but certainly not acting naturally. Pieces of wood that still retained some of their previous shape as Mustang's desk chair burned cheerfully, the smallish blaze not as bright as it could be, but it was throwing off waves of delicious warmth.

And the wooden floor beneath it wasn't even scorched.

Ed blinked, forcing the look of surprise off his face, his eyes flicking from the dancing flame to the bed. The colonel was leaning against the headboard, still in his dress shirt and uniform pants, his arm around a smaller, swaddled bundle beside him. The fire wavered as Mustang realized Ed was there, dark eyes reflecting the flames like chips of obsidian, red and black in turns. Ed opened his mouth to say something – what, he wasn't sure – but the colonel pressed a finger to his lips, glancing at the blanket-covered lump beside him, and patted the bed on his other side.

Mouth compressed to a thin, angry line, Ed shook his head once. The heat in the room was already warming the cloth of his pajamas, reminding him that he was damn cold and wearing next to nothing, and the ache in his shoulder and thigh seemed worse for their lack of numbness. Shit. He had to get out of here before he got too used to this.

He looked at what could only be Al, noticing the bundle's slow up-and-down movement, jealousy flaring. His brother was here, in bed with the enemy, asleep, and he hadn't even had the guts to tell Ed he wasn't going to –

"Fullmetal. Come here."

Mustang's voice was low, just above a whisper, but for some reason it carried. Ed tightened his jaw, shooting another calculating look at the younger boy. He could just wake Al up and tell him to come back to bed with Ed. Mustang didn't deserve him, not like Ed did. What did the man ever do for them lately except separate them?

"Come _here_. And close the door."

That jerk. Fists clenched, Ed shut the stupid door, threadbare floor rug softening his steps as he moved stiffly to the bed. He stopped at the side, glaring. "He sleeps with _me_," he hissed angrily.

"The base called. They say the main boiler isn't working," Mustang murmured evenly, expression casually neutral. "The pipes have cracked and split in places. I'm many things, but not a mechanic. I was hoping you might know something about how they work."

The explanation took Ed aback. That was why it was so cold in here? A stupid boiler? Acidic words jumped to his lips, scathing retorts that mocked a grown man who couldn't fix his own furnace or keep two minors safe from the elements… and died when he realized he didn't know anything about boilers, either. Alchemy, yes. Radios, some. Boilers…? "… no. Winry never mentioned… I never studied them." It was sullen even to his ears.

"Then we have to wait til morning." He sounded tired, and again Ed looked at that small, magical fire. Of course. The man was the Flame Alchemist, after all. Who else could control flames like that? To keep that level of slow, steady control over continuous alchemy… anyone else might not have realized how taxing it could be. Ed knew, though. He knew first hand.

"You could move to the living room," he muttered, thinking of the fireplace.

"The room's too large; I don't have enough fuel. The heat would go right out the windows, up the flue." Mustang shut his eyes, leaning his head back against the headboard. "Easier to heat a smaller space like this one."

"…ruin your floor." He couldn't think of anything else to say, but he was finding it increasingly hard to stay angry. "You could've come to ask me if you needed help with the boiler."

"Would you have listened?"

"You should've sent Al, then!"

"So you could insist he stay with you, freeze, and then make me come find both of you and have a big, ugly scene? Hm."

Ed flushed. That was actually exactly what he would have done, and it pissed him off that Mustang knew it. Even more, it was embarrassing. When Mustang said it out loud like that, it sounded like something a little kid would do.

The heavy covers suddenly shifted beneath his hands, and he blinked as they were pulled back to expose the bed sheets. "Hey –"

"Get in. You're shivering."

"It's just the –"

"Fullmetal. Don't make me ask again."

He stared at the bed, then back at Mustang, confused. His legs were shaking inside the pajama pants, partly from the cold and partly because his automail was hurting, and after a moment he gave in. He slid between the sheets, the flannel not cold at all, and almost sighed in relief as he sank into the mattress. It felt good to be off his leg; really good. And not only was the fire helping, but Mustang's body gave off its own heat, a comfortable line of warmth that he shouldn't be enjoying.

Silent, Ed turned over, face to the edge of the bed, Mustang's legs against his back. "… you should get under here, too," he said finally, voice still soft for Al's sake. "It'd be warmer."

"I wouldn't do that to you," the man answered, but there was laughter in his tone.

Ed bristled, propping up enough to glare over his shoulder. "If you get sick, I won't let you anywhere near Al, you got that? Nowhere near!"

Mustang opened his eyes, eyebrows raised. "Well… since you put it that way."

As soon as Mustang was covered, Ed flopped over, covers to his burning ears. He hadn't been this close to the other man since… well, since a long time. Mustang's legs were touching Ed's back again, the rough fabric of the uniform pressing between his shoulder blades. Two people would've fit all right in the bed, but three was pushing it. Still… the ache was lessening, bringing a wonderful sort of drowsiness in its wake, and Ed couldn't muster up the ire to complain.

"Hey… thanks. For keeping him warm." Maybe… maybe Roy wasn't that bad. Maybe.

"It'll be fixed in the morning," Mustang answered. The fire flickered, and Al shifted, a soft sigh floating to Ed from the other side of the bed.

"… I didn't mean…I know it'll get fixed, but I --"

"Go to sleep, Edward."

THE END


End file.
